Why Here?
by Kiyfra
Summary: After Turbo survived his near fatal encounter in Sugar Rush, he flees Litwak's arcade onto the internet. Looking for a suitable game to take over, he stumbles upon a game called 'Quiet Coast'. It's not what he was looking for in a game but despite the dangers, he just can't seem to leave. The dreary little game may contain something else he's looking for. No pairings.
1. Chapter 1: Meeting Rita

_"Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?!" the demented racer shrieked hysterically._

_The child gave no answer. Its shadowy figure was barely visible in the gloom, the two white orbs it had for eyes remaining ever bright and curious. Quizzically tilting its head to the side, Turbo felt another hot wave of indignation wash over him._

_How dare this child mock him! A clattering of footsteps and wild howling laughter travelling down the hall announced the arrival of his pursuers and his ire was replaced by a hollow sense of dread. The painful burning in his throat and lungs served as a reminder of his pitiful state and the blood pounding in his head caused flashes of dizziness to take hold of his mind._

_This hallway was a dead end and the small girl composed of shadows would calmly watch his grisly end. Turbo clenched his teeth and waited for death._

O.o.O

The lone racer looked out over the cliff toward a simple looking town next to a vast expanse of dark sea. Stone walls bordered the town; open only toward the coast and a small path leading into a densely packed forest. Fine mist clouded around the racer, but below the cliff a heavy blanket of fog swathed the entire valley.

What had brought him here? After his near fatal defeat in Sugar Rush, he knew he would be hunted down if he stayed in the arcade, so for the third time, Turbo did the unthinkable.

He left the arcade. It wasn't as difficult as some of the other characters would have believed. After all, Litwak's arcade supported Wi-Fi and after jumping onto a laptop someone had brought with them, it was just a short trip to the World Wide Web. Now he could take over nearly any game that existed!

Turbo would have preferred to find a decent racing game, but something inexplicable had drawn him to a game called 'Quiet Coast'. If he was going to find the code vault anywhere in the game, he should start by looking in town.

Descending the steps carved into the cliff side, the fog became thicker and thicker until Turbo could barely see a few feet ahead of him. He'd have to be careful here; until he could recode the game to recognize him as the player character, he wouldn't respawn after dying.

His foot slipped and he went skidding down several stairs until he stopped at a junction where the stairs folded around to descend the other way. Shakily pulling himself up and away from the precariously high edge, the chalk white racer silently cursed the little brat and her oversized friend that had forced him to flee the arcade.

Not that it was the first time he had to hide from everyone else. After his failed attempt at hijacking Road Blasters, the cursed game that had dared to compete with his title of being the greatest racing game ever, Turbo had hidden out in one of the games expansive worlds until he got the idea of taking over Sugar Rush Speedway.

After obtaining the combination necessary to gain access to the code vault, it had been quite simple to usurp the half pint in charge and erase the other characters memories to turn them against her. Until Wreck-It Ralph had helped her...

There were no more incidents traveling down the cliff and Turbo eventually reached the forest floor. Fog swathed the area and the dirt path was barely distinguishable from the carpet of leaves and pine needles. There were no sounds of woodland animals, just Turbo's own footsteps as he followed the winding path and the occasional gust of wind to send the branches creaking.

Every tree that loomed in the distance was a menacing silhouette and the pale racer found himself jumping at any unexpected sound. He hated feeling so powerless. Before that fateful day in Sugar Rush he had been the unopposed monarch and number one racer, with only a helpless, universally disliked glitch of a little girl who had anything to say about it. Even that paled to the power he had when he was fused with that cy-bug and he could have taken over any game he wanted. That absurdly strong wreckster from the fix-it game had been batted about helplessly like a cat toy by his powerful cy-bug form. Where had it gone wrong?

The crackling of leaves underfoot caused him to snap out of his daydreaming and freeze in his tracks. A shadowy figure made its way through the fog and the muffled footsteps became louder as the figure drew closer.

"He-hello? Is anyone there?"

A young woman with short brown hair and a roundish face became visible through the gloom, her arms kept tucked in and wide eyes constantly darting about. Her eyes widened even further and she quickly took a step backward at the sight of the ghostly pale racer, then she visibly relaxed.

"Oh, y-you must be a visiting character, right?" The jittery young woman quickly glanced over her shoulder. "At f-first I thought you might be o-one of them."

Turbo wasn't quite sure what to make of this strange girl who seemed to be terrified so badly by her own game. Still, if he was going to recode the game, it would help to know exactly who she was.

"Are you the protagonist of this game?" the racer inquired.

"Y-yes and my name is Rita." She couldn't look the pale character straight in the eyes and was nervously tugging at the sleeves of her red shirt to further cover her wrists.

"I'm looking for m-my sister and I'm s-sca-scared she might have gone into town." Rita continued, her mouth quivering and looking as if she were on the verge of a sobbing breakdown.

"I, uh, have to get going. There's something I'm searching for." Turbo muttered awkwardly as he tried to slide past her.

Rita tugged at her sleeves again and sneaked another glance over her shoulder.

"O-of course. If you're going into town, be careful." Rita stared mournfully down at the ground. "Plenty of characters visit. They don't remain very long..."

Turbo hastily tried to back away from the strange girl, only for her to lunge forward and grab him by his jumpsuit.

"Please, if you see my sister, bring her back safely!" the hysterical woman sobbed into his chest. "She can't face them on her own!"

The pale racer quickly shoved her off, his only though being to place enough distance between him and the clearly mentally unstable individual as possible.

Composing herself once more, the bundle of nerves of a protagonist wiped the moisture away from her eyes with her sleeves and looked abashedly toward the ground.

"I-I'm sorry..." she quietly apologised. Walking away in the opposite direction Turbo was headed, she threw one more remark over her shoulder as she disappeared into the fog.

"I hope you find what you're looking for."

Continuing down the path again toward town, the lone racer bitterly muttered under his breath, "No you don't."

The trees eventually thinned out and Turbo found himself facing a massive stone wall that encompassed an old fashioned town with small sturdy houses and cobblestone streets slick with rain water. A large sign to his left read: _Welcome to Little Salt! A town you won't soon forget!_

The narrow entrance way and bumpy streets were clearly not designed with vehicles in mind so what was a character whose entire purpose was racing doing here? Something inexplicable, something unexplained drew Turbo to the gloomy little town and his answers lay ahead.


	2. Chapter 2: Welcome to Little Salt

The swirling fog and thick cover of clouds obscured the sky, leaving the game environment a collection of rundown buildings amidst a sea of grey.

_'Great, I've stumbled into some pretentious artsy game.'_ Turbo thought to himself bitterly.

The game seemed to be completely abandoned, save for the protagonist he met earlier. All the homes had windows weathered by age and plant life took hold in any crack it could find. Gardens left unattended were either left withered and dead or overrun with weeds and garden gates were left hanging open irresponsibly. Tall streetlights provided no illumination and the environment displayed no signs of life.

Where were the other characters? Surely you couldn't make a game that was just about exploring a dull grey environment? Perhaps it was a puzzle game or...

Or perhaps it had been overrun. Rita had been reduced to a nervous wreck by something present in the town. Could non-intelligent creatures from another game like the cy-bugs have been introduced and the game no longer functioned properly? It would be strange for someone to fear for their lives in the safety of their own game unless it had enemies that would attack regardless of whether or not the game was being played.

As if in answer to his thoughts, a dark shape flew past over his head. Suddenly reminded of his own mortality, Turbo stopped dead in his tracks and barely dared to breathe as he listened for whatever it was that passed by. Scanning the area for any possible danger, the isolated racer noticed the streetlights curved inward slightly as if they were tall figures intently watching his progress.

He uncomfortably moved to the sidewalk and clung to the shadows of the building until he saw a house with a plume of smoke rising from the chimney. It was the first indication there might be an NPC in the game, and the phantom like villain went up to the front door.

The door creaked open in the wind and no light poured out. A vase knocked off a small table left shards of china littering the front hall.

"Hello? Is anyone in there?" Turbo nervously called out.

There was no answer. Stepping past the foreboding darkness engulfing the doorframe, the exiled character turned right into a small kitchen. A fridge hummed to his left and a clock shaped like a cat had its tail and pupils move eerily side to side. The small table had a paper bag filled with rotted groceries surrounded by flies and the kitchen sink dripped steadily.

Cupboard doors below the sink were open with the plumbing exposed and a set of tools lay discarded on the tile floor. Bits of pipe were missing and a puddle of water leaked out onto the floor.

Felix could have repaired the plumbing with ease, as with all things he used his hammer on. He sometimes missed that goof of a handyman...

A loud creaking came from the front of the house and Turbo hastily backed toward the sink. Sounds of sparking and a low moan resonated off the walls as something drew closer. A mangled combination of human flesh and machine dragged itself around the corner; something that bore resemblance to a man with sparking blue wires and cords woven into its skin peering into the kitchen. Dials were embedded in its body and blinking diodes replaced its eyes; a gaping chasm of a mouth leaving the monstrosity wearing an expression of perpetual horror.

The grotesque figure lunged forward and slammed Turbo onto the ground. Desperately reaching for anything that could be used as a weapon, his fingers found hold on a sturdy pipe wrench. With the sound of metal teeth scraping against his helmet filling his ears, the desperate racer swung the wrench as hard as he could against his tormentor.

A sickening crack jarred his assailant loose enough for him to retreat several paces and pick himself off of the floor. The horrifying figure's jaw dripped blood as it continued to stumble over to its target. Another swing of the improvised weapon connected with the back the creature's skull and with a final cascade of blue sparks, the monstrosity finally slumped onto the floor in death.

Turbo's breath came in heavy rasps as he stared at the creature bleeding on the floor, his eyes wide in shock. When the thought that there might be more of them around occurred to him, he swiftly bolted out of the house and slammed the door behind him.

The shaken racer leaned against the door while his heart rate was returning to a normal pace, his pipe wrench being held so tightly that his knuckles somehow turned even whiter. Distant sounds of sparks sent Turbo's pulse sky rocketing again as another moaning figure lethargically trudged through the gloom.

Never had Turbo run so fast. As a racer he hadn't the need to. Every vaguely dark shape in the fog was given as great a distance as possible and he didn't let up the breakneck pace until he reached the end of the street.

Sweating and gasping, the winded racer finally paused to examine his surroundings. An elaborately carved stone fountain still running continued to pour water in the middle of a turnabout, with many streets branching off in various directions. There were so many paths he could take, how would he ever find the code vault?

Wait, why did he want to take over this game again? It was dreary and depressing at best and horrifying and life threatening at worst. Enemies in this game had reduced the player character to a jittery mess and not a trace of friendly NPCs could be found. Being the protagonist of a game where he would be viciously savaged by nightmarish creatures without any form of companionship didn't seem like a very fulfilling existence.

So what was stopping Turbo from making a beeline to the exit and trying to find just about any other game? For starters, like hell he was going back the way he came! The pale racer would have liked to place as many walls, miles and preferably maps between him and the hideous tangles of flesh and wires as possible. There was no way he was going to travel down that street again.

But another reason prickled at the back of his mind, an abstract justification for his presence floating just out of reach. Turbo had a feeling gnawing at the pit of his stomach that his flimsy excuse of trying to find the code vault didn't hold water anymore.

The phantom like racer had been telling Rita the truth when he had told her he was searching for something. But what was he looking for?

o.O.o

**_A/N: Several upcoming monster designs were inspired by the artwork of aguantegrimtales on DeviantArt so please go view his artwork. BTW, the first enemy encountered is called a Cable Guy, so I decided that his name is Larry. How could I possibly name him anything else?_**


	3. Chapter 3: Sincerly, V

It made sense that Rita was concerned about her sister being in town. The monsters he had seen back on that street were likely not the extent of the dangers either. Dark shapes frequently darted overhead in the thick cloud cover, accompanied by strange sounds that Turbo couldn't quite place. Almost like wings flapping, but not quite. Whatever was causing it, it wasn't very likely going to welcome him with open arms.

A glass lantern was flickering in one of the numerous streets branching out from the roundabout and lines of clothing hung across many of the alleyways. There were an abundant number of shops and other businesses packed in the streets and several tall apartment complexes rose above them. Windows were filled with newspaper clippings and messages written in red spray paint covered nearly every surface.

At least, Turbo _thought_ it was spray paint. Absolute nonsense was clogging up the windows with some of the letters and words washed away by the rain. A toffee shop had its sign painted over, reading:

_** "A TIME TO HEAL"**_

Mad sayings were overwriting many of the shop signs, saying things like:

_** "DON'T GO INTO THE LIGHT" "PLEASE HURRY" "BUGS BUGS BUGS" "IT HURTS" "SO MUCH FUN WITH CODES" "THRICE BETRAYED" "THE DRAGON SUCUMBS TO A RIVER OF ICE"**_

So many winding streets branching off, which way should he go? With no clear idea of what it was he was even searching for, it seemed that Turbo would have to wander about aimlessly until something struck him. Not a very appealing idea, especially the whole 'being struck' part.

He supposed he could try searching for Rita's sister...

Yeah right. Like Turbo was honestly going to waste his time searching for some idiot child that had wandered into a monster infested town. Still, it wasn't as if he had any better ideas. A stupid motivation was better than no motivation at all.

Another dark shape passing by overhead caused Turbo to randomly pick a street to his right and continue onward at a brisk pace. The narrow alley had gutters filled with scummy looking liquid and back entrances to many buildings. Fire escapes loomed ominously overhead, appearing at first glance to be wrought iron cages. Several flickering lanterns barely penetrated the gloom as the exiled racer followed the winding alley.

Turbo quickly found himself staring at a brick wall marking the end of the path he chose, an opened back door to a business on his right.

Several loud cracks rang out from behind as the lanterns shattered and went out one by one. A short figure stepped out of the building; a small girl who couldn't be much older than ten with blond hair.

But something was horribly wrong. Her eyes were blank and sightless, every joint sagging with sheer lifelessness. The flesh folded and twisted into small rivulets and a haze of numerous, ever shifting, tiny black dots filled the air around her.

More of the dots emptied out of tiny openings in her skin as the lifeless girl trudged closer to the mortified racer. With horror, he realised it was a swarm of insects inhabiting the girl's body. Turbo wasted no time in sprinting back the way he came, lest the same fate befall him. The glass from the lanterns crunched underfoot and lifeless bodies lay strewn about in the fire escapes, shuddering to life as they sensed his presence.

The insect harbouring children shambled toward the ladders. Their limbs lacking any kind of strength required to hold onto the rungs, they landed bodily onto the stone ground as the terrified racer tore past.

The growing number of insects seemed to cause the very street to hum and throb with so many wings beating the air. Turbo dared a glance back and saw a thick black haze chocking the alley with their young hosts lumbering along.

He tried to push the images of the swarm overtaking him and burrowing into his skin out of his mind and just keep running. The constant humming and vibrating of the air threatened to suffocate him, every imagined bug searching for a new nest crawling on his skin or buzzing in his ears causing a new wave of panic to overtake him.

The roundabout and fountain came into view again and the desperate racer glared about, looking for a means of escape. Making a split second decision, Turbo threw himself into the fountain basin as the horde of insects clouded overhead.

Feeling himself floating upward, he frantically threw his hand out to find anything he could use to anchor himself down. Colliding painfully with the statue base, he found lose purchase on the rough stone structure and held on for his life.

Turbo kept his nose plugged with one hand and himself weighed down with the other, trying not to imagine what would happen when he inevitably had to surface for air. His grip on the stone structure was loosening by the second and the ache in his lungs grew steadily.

The oxygen hungry character squeezed his eyes shut tighter as if it would drown out all his other senses and thoughts. The fountain had been a terrible mistake. There was nowhere he could run now and his temporary hiding spot couldn't be used for long. Turbo would eventually have to choose between his lungs filling with water or his entire body being filled with ravenous insects and devoured from the inside out.

The choice was taken out of his hands when he lost his grip on the statue and floated back to the surface and the awaiting haze of insects. He instinctively gasped for fresh air and instantly regretted it when he pictured the cloud of insects pouring down his throat and burrowing their way into his body.

No such thing happened. Turbo searched about warily for any sign of the micro sized man-eaters and saw the promising sight of child-like figures through the fog retreating down another street.

He was alone again. Trembling from the cold of the fountain and the horrifying death he almost met, Turbo reflected briefly on the creatures that had nearly taken his life. He wondered if monsters of a similar nature were all that inhabited this game. The NPCs might have been attacked by those insects and if that was the case, who was to say that a similarly horrible fate hadn't befallen Rita's sister?

A prickling sense of unease skittered up his spine when he contemplated the image of an entire game being overrun and devoured by such creatures, the townspeople reduced to walking corpses for them to inhabit. Or worse, perhaps they weren't dead and some part of them was consciously aware of everything that was happening.

Turbo had never liked children, but he couldn't think of anyone who he believed deserved such a fate. Not even Vanellope or her friends, the people who had ruined all of his efforts of reprogramming Sugar Rush and forced him into a state of self exile. The people who -ever since his King Candy coding was burned away by the Diet Cola Mountain eruption- he had never stopped thinking about ways to harm in revenge.

Before coming here, he would have said that any horrible thing that befell Vanellope would have been well deserved and he would not have hesitated to orchestra such a thing happening to her. Simply put, Turbo would have inflicted unthinkable horrors upon innocent people to have his own way and get what he wanted.

But seeing those parasite infested children lifelessly trudge through the streets of a desolate game had changed something within him. He didn't _want_ to extract revenge anymore. The idea of Vanellope, that hotshot from Road Blasters, or anyone else who he felt wronged him, pacing down fog filled avenues with vacant expressions and insects burrowing into their skin caused a heavy numbness to flood his limbs and nausea to well up from the pit of his stomach. Create a monster and one day they will come back for you.

Looking around, Turbo noticed that the graffiti covering the walls and windows were now written in black rather than red and although newly strewn debris littered the ground, the buildings looked to be in much better condition.

The ruined masonry and inexplicable improvement in the buildings' conditions could have been rationalized by Turbo not paying attention earlier, but he explicitly remembered the writing to be red.

After thinking for a few moments and no sensible explanation coming to mind, he simply decided not to dwell on it. Turbo had greater problems to worry about.

The fountain was the only source of water he was aware of and despite his impressions it might not be the cleanest, he needed to ensure he was properly hydrated.

Videogame characters had many of the same basic biological necessities as real human beings would. After all, they were programmed to resemble and act like them. Sure, there were exceptions. Most didn't require nearly as much sleep as real humans and any kind of food from their gaming environment would be capable of sustaining them.

Quenching his thirst with the metallic tasting water, Turbo decided to travel along a street that would take him closer to the coast. Large words written in a black, tar-like substance trailed along the buildings in disjointed phrases that seemed to be forming a note.

_**"HELLO, FRIEND" "YOU'VE COME FAR" "SUFFER THE TRIAL" "AND" "STAY ALIVE" "YOUR ANSWERS AWAIT" "BY THE QUIET COAST"**_

Turbo got the unsettling impression this was a message directed toward _him_ and not the protagonist. An icy claw of fear suddenly shot through him and gripped his heart when he saw the signature.

_**"SINCERLY, V"**_


	4. Chapter 4: Revisiting Old Haunts

Vanellope couldn't have written that, plain and simple. She was back at Litwak's arcade and that settled the matter. There were plenty of characters whose name started with V, and besides, why on earth would Vanellope call him 'friend'?

No matter how he tried to assure himself it wasn't possible and that it was a message intended for Rita, the nagging doubt refused to leave and lingered at the back of his mind.

Continuing down the long street, silhouettes emerging from the fog accompanied by blue sparks and low moans announced the presence of more grotesque figures from earlier. Turbo felt a flash of cold dread wash over him at the reappearance of the monstrous beings, and another when he remembered he was now weaponless.

Taking off running again, Turbo repeatedly clenched his fist as if he was hoping his old pipe wrench could be willed into existence and would suddenly materialize into his palm. Sweat started to form on his forehead and trickled down the sides of his face as he went barrelling past the twisted forms lurking in the gloom.

The pain filled moans fading into the distance, Turbo hid in an alley between two buildings to catch his breath. His limbs felt as if they were made out of lead and heat pressed against his head, clouding his vision.

Several stabbing pains in his left shoulder made him cry out and quickly turn to face his attacker. Pale, weathered skin with frayed wires weaving in and out clung to a skeletal arm that ended in metal claws surgically grafted onto a gnarled hand.

An ear piercing scream tore its way out of Turbo's throat as he tried to shove the mangled imitation of a human being away from him and tear his arm free. The claws painfully dragged their way down his arm, leaving a mess of shredded fabric and several bleeding gashes.

Barrelling out of the alley, Turbo ran for what could only have been a few minutes, but felt like hours until he eventually collapsed. Sinking to his knees, he painfully drew in dry chest racking gulps of air. His lungs burned from the physical exertion and the gashes on his arm stung from the chill air.

He was trapped in a nightmare that was far from over. Every encounter came closer to killing him than the last and no end was in sight. Escape wasn't possible either; Turbo was trapped between the dangers behind him and whatever horrors waited for him ahead. The fact that he was likely going to die there came crashing down upon him and Turbo let out a strangled cry with the realisation.

Where had it all gone wrong? He had been number one racer and beloved by all the gamers. Now he was a character whose assumed death had been met with joy and actual passing would go unmourned. Had he ever felt so tiny and insignificant?

Yes, actually.

Most of the other characters in the arcade did not have very kind things to say about Turbo. If the subject ever came up, they would have said that he was a remorseless, selfish and entitled attention seeker whose actions led to two games being unplugged, effectively causing the deaths of all characters involved. Then for an encore, he tried to take over _another_ game, this time exiling a small girl and altering the coding to turn all the inhabitants against her to perpetuate a state of emotional torment for fifteen years.

While all of that and more was certainly true, the self-centered racer still retained some shred of humanity. Turbo Time being unplugged had ensured the death of his two colleges, Accel and Diesel. The sheer emptiness Turbo had felt as he saw the sign in Game Central Station reading 'Turbo Time' flicker and disappear was the closest that he had come to feeling true remorse in his time at the arcade.

The other characters in the arcade could say what they wished and very little of it would be wrong, but let it never be said that Turbo never cared for anyone.

The lone racer drew his knees to his chest and lied down on his side. Another one of the mysterious flying creatures flew past in the cloud cover, but he didn't care. Horrid creatures could descend from the sky to tear his body apart and no one would find him there. Anyone that did happen to stumble upon him wouldn't know who he was, neither would they care.

Turbo, the greatest racer who ever lived! Torn apart and left for dead in the middle of a street somewhere, unloved and unmourned.

The despair filled racer noticed a small trickle of dark ooze bleed out onto the cobblestone before him and he lifted his head slightly to locate the source. Splotches of the viscous substance pooled on the sidewalk and dribbled off onto the street.

Curious, Turbo sat up to get a better look and the change in perspective morphed the puddles into words. Another crude message seemed to have been recently written on the ground, reading:

_**"WHEN THERE'S LIFE, THERE'S HOPE" "V"**_

A thin trail of the liquid trailed off the V and continued down the sidewalk, leading further into the gloom. A sharp, biting pain in his arm reminded Turbo of his injury and he gripped the afflicted area to staunch the bleeding. The sight of his palm turning red caused a wave of dizziness and nausea to wash over him.

Turbo was left with the eerie impression that whoever this "V" was, they were responding to his own thoughts. Still, curiosity overrode his vague sense of apprehension and compelled him to follow the trail. The track swerved side to side and veered off into the middle of an intersection with large, drippy letters addressing him.

_**"BUGS ARE TREATED" "AS PESTS" "AND NO ONE WILL" "MOURN A BUG SQUASHED" "DON'T BE A BUG, TURBO"**_

_**"SINCERLY, V"**_

Being a bug, what in the mod's name did that even mean? He had not been some lowly insect; he was number one racer in the entire arcade! Except he wasn't _in_ the arcade anymore, he was on a vast network with access to countless flash games and emulators. There were probably hundreds, if not, thousands of copies Turbo Time and its titular character in existence and although Turbo's ego was rather large, he wasn't arrogant enough to believe he was superior to all of them.

So what were those drippy letters smeared over the uneven street trying to tell him? Not to fuse with cy-bugs? He kinda figured out that wasn't a bright idea after learning cy-bugs were programmed to fly directly into any bright light source, no matter how dangerous.

The term 'bug' was obviously being used as a metaphor, but it made no sense. Turbo had never been very good at riddles; he preferred the straightforwardness of driving. The cy-bugs had been like a virus, consuming everything in their path with no regard for others or the destruction they caused. Perhaps the message was referring to their nature.

Why would Turbo have to be warned not to behave like the single function insect viruses? He knew why. The comparison made him squirm in discomfort when he instinctively knew that this 'V' entity spoke the truth. His gut instinct had told him he would find what he was searching for if he found Rita's lost sister and that V was entirely correct about his answers being near the coast.

Turbo had selfishly ruined and ended lives to reclaim the spotlight and he would be willing to do much more. Well, look where it got him. Pests like the cy-bugs would be squashed without hesitation and he had been squashed like the parasite he was.

Turbo was pragmatic if nothing else, and pragmatically speaking, trying to take over another game would have its repercussions. Well no more. His game hacking was over with and he was done feeling sorry for himself.

_'My time may be over at the arcade, but I'm not going to die here. That's quitter's talk and I am _not_ a quitter.'_

With a renewed sense of purpose, whatever that purpose may be, Turbo took stock of his surroundings. To his left was a tall hotel overlooking a huge fissure that cut through the town like a scar and had torn the bridge apart. Two halves of a brick arc stood at opposite ends of a raging torrent cutting the other half of the town off from the mainland.

_'This must be one of those bridges that remain unrepaired until a certain objective is completed.'_ Turbo thought to himself.

Felix could have fixed it with ease if he were there. Turbo and the retro handyman had been great friends before Road Blasters had been plugged in and the villainous racer had gone game jumping. Needless to say, his actions and presumed death meant the end of that friendship. For the first time in who knew how many years, Turbo wished things could go back to the way they were. If that damned Road Blasters game had never been plugged in, none of this would have happened!

It was rather bizarre that he hadn't seen the massive split in the town from the cliff at the beginning of the game. The violent torrent slicing through the gorge certainly seemed large enough that it should have been visible.

Turbo's attention was brought back to the wound on his arm where blood was starting to dry around the edges. He paused to examine the claw marks and was surprised to find it was not at all that deep. Even his shoulder where the claws had dug into him wasn't that badly wounded.

No, he wouldn't die from bleeding. Infection would be the greater risk to the wounded racer. Video game characters rarely had bacteria programmed as a hazard into their game environments so infection was usually not an issue, but modern games with their realistic grime textures could pose a serious problem to an open wound.

The phantom like character further examined the surrounding area and found a small construction spot on the road to his left, yellow tape walling off an open sewer with a shovel left beside it. With the hope that it could replace his lost pipe wrench, Turbo hoisted the shovel over his uninjured shoulder for use against any other unfriendly entities that could appear.

He lowered it into his hands and turned around abruptly at the sound of ringing foot steps behind him. A vaguely humanoid figure trudged toward him with metal clangs echoing in the street, it's entire body a mess of iron and steel components propelling it forward. The blank sheet of metal it had for a face was adorned with a ventilation shaft instead of a mouth and disturbingly out of place human eyes filled with tears.

Most of all, it was broken. The rusty gears and cogs it had in place of internal organs sparked and didn't turn as they were supposed to, pistons in its limbs moved half heartedly and sluggish, and bits of iron clogged up its creaking joints. A large metal shaft splattered with oil was pierced through its chest; the ventilation duct emitting an eerie mechanical wailing.

Turbo had remained fixated on the bizarre blue eyes filled with such utter devastation and betrayal that he didn't notice the automaton's knees buckling. With an astonishing display of agility, the metal man covered the distance in a single bound and a heavy limb sent Turbo sprawling.

His shovel clattered several feet away and the winded racer made a mad dash toward it. Another bound and swing from its mechanical arm brought a heavy metal hammer on the end of its limb crashing into the ground at the spot Turbo had been occupying mere moments before.

Lunging forward, the pale racer's hand grasped onto the shovel and he swung wildly at his target. It struck squarely in the shoulder and ricocheted off with a loud clang, the broken automaton completely unfazed by the meagre attack. Another heavy swing from the metal monstrosity's mallet like appendage forced Turbo to hold the shovel across in defense and the impact nearly knocked Turbo off his feet. The shovel held, but a large crack splintered the handle.

It would not hold up to another attack and Turbo was quickly running out of options. In desperation, he thrust the wooden handle into the rotating components of his metal adversary in vain hope of jamming the machinery. Large rotating cogs crushed the handle easily, leaving the ghostly pale racer weaponless.

In a futile effort, Turbo tried to run, but another swift bound brought the wreck of a machine crashing into him. The winded racer was laying flat on his back and the creaking monstrosity stood over him, ready to strike again. Tears fell on his jumpsuit and the eerie mechanical wailing grew louder.

Turbo rolled to the side and covered his head with his arms as the metal sledge hammer crashed into the cobblestone street next to him; debris sent scratching against his skin and small shards of stone ricocheting off his helmet.

His hands went scrabbling for something, anything that could be attacked or used against his seemingly unstoppable foe. They rested upon the iron pike jutting out its chest, the rough texture scratching against his palms. He placed a foot against a metal plate on the other side of its chest and pulled. The rust from the pike was like thousands of gritty particles trying to tear into his skin and his muscles screamed out in protest.

With a loud screech of metal scraping against metal and a cascade of sparks making tiny burns in his jumpsuit, the broken automaton shuddered one last time before all its components fell apart and clattered to the ground.

Panting, Turbo stared at the ruined remains of machinery, the life fading from the baby blue eyes looking at him with such heartbreak. The exiled racer squirmed with discomfort and guilt under the pain filled gaze that he snuffed out. If he never faltered in his resolve to ostracize and emotionally torment a small girl, why should destroying a creature that tried to kill him evoke such remorse?

More strange, gritty cries traveled down the street and Turbo jumped to his feet and took off running back toward the intersection. The strange metal men were clambering out of windows and doors until their mechanical wailing saturated the air. A large crowd of his metal assailants trudged and leaped toward him, surrounding their quarry from all sides.

The rusty creaking of their joints and sluggish whirring of their insides was absolutely maddening as Turbo searched desperately for a means of escape. They were getting closer and their heavy clanging footsteps and eerie cries seemed determined to rattle apart any coherent thought.

Closer, closer now, the encroaching sea of rusted metal and tear filled eyes almost had him. The trapped racer's heart pounded heavily enough that it seemed to be trying to burst out of chest and sickly flashes of hot and cold clouded his mind.

Metal footsteps walked over the black drippy letters and their wailing jumped a few notes higher in surprise. Dark sticky tendrils ensnared the intruding automatons, finding purchase between the gaps in their machinery.

The rusty mechanical men struggled against the shadowy ropes holding them down. Wasting no time, Turbo sprinted to the nearest one and pulled at the iron pike holding it together, images of the shadows ensnaring him generating new onslaughts of panic.

With a colossal effort and shower of sparks, the automaton shuddered then fell apart and the panicked racer moved on to the next one. Already they were breaking free of their bonds and Turbo could never hope to destroy them all.

He recoiled as a mass of darkness rose up beside him shadowy wisps formed a small figure composed of pitch black. Its short limbs and small stature were held with complete ease and no trace of fear. A trail of shadow from the back of its head resembled a ponytail and gave the creature the appearance of a little girl. Large white orbs for eyes scanned the area and watched the surrounding commotion with curiosity.

Turbo hastily swung the iron pike he was still holding at his perceived adversary and was surprised when the creature simply evaporated; his makeshift weapon encountering no resistance.

All of the broken automatons silenced their eerie wailing and stood perfectly still at the sound of heavy footsteps and gravely breathing coming from down the street.

_Thump...thump...thump..._

A massive figure lumbered through the fog, its towering height and broad shoulders sending the metal men running. Their bonds dissipated and they went clanking and bounding away with far greater speed than they exhibited pursuing the pale racer.

The monstrous figure loomed enormously in the mass of swirling grey, its heavy breathing echoing off the surrounding buildings. A body composed of gritty clay bricks and ruined masonry became visible; coal black eyes sizing Turbo up.

The racer frantically cast his eyes about, wasting crucial seconds deciding which way to run. With the behemoth suddenly charging at him, he quickly turned around and ran into the abandoned hotel.

Past the front door, the scent of damp and decaying floorboards overpowered the racer. Wallpaper was peeled in a thousand places, the reception desk and all other furniture in the lobby had been upturned. Dead potted plants had their contents strewn about on the floor and the rugs had been eaten away by mod-awful insects.

Roaches and other disgusting pests scattered the instant Turbo dashed in, scuttling away to whatever hole they came from. Guttural sounds from outside sent the phantom like racer sprinting around the upturned desk to his left and down the hallway.

Doors with fading numbers and potted ferns passed by in a blur as Turbo tore down the hall. Stopping at a random door, he fiddled with the knob, his hands and forehead slick with sweat. Locked.

Loud earthy bellows drew closer and the massive figure barreled down the hall in pursuit. Turbo's blood went cold at the sight and his breath came in large gasps as he ran again, his legs not obeying his commands to move faster.

The stony figure was gaining on him, the potted plants he threw in its way not even slowing it down Heavy, laboured footsteps thudded closer and closer, churning up the carpet and floor it clambered over.

Skidding around a corner, Turbo turned left at the end of the hall and found himself facing a dead end. Bellowing roars threatened to shake the halls apart as the exhausted racer tried to think of some way out.

A squealing high pitched sound of static drew his attention to a room with the door wedged open. Wasting no time, he slid inside. A simple room with no windows contained a sunken mattress with several springs loose facing a sliding door closet and a small television displaying nothing but static.

There was no escape and the clay work monstrosity was charging after him, the closet caught his eye and he slid the door open. Turbo stepped into the awaiting shadows and closed the door.

Total darkness enveloped him as he huddled in the corner and listened to the monster's ragged breathing. A loud gravely roar and sound of wood cracking signified that the stone behemoth was in the same room. The harsh breathing and thudding footsteps suffused the air and seemed like it was in the closet sidled up next to the racer.

Turbo's own breathing and heartbeat seemed deafening to him as he shut his eyes closed tightly and tried making himself smaller. Loud crashes from outside suggested the monstrosity was tearing up the room searching for him. He tried not to let out a whimper as he imagined large clay fists smashing through the wall and discovering his hiding place.

With one last crash and bellow of frustration, the footsteps and harsh breathing receded. The only ragged breathing was Turbo's own as he tried to fill his burning lungs. Outside, the high pitched squeal from the T.V faded down to an agreeable static.

Turbo wondered if there was an afterlife for videogame characters. Probably not, and if there was, he knew he wouldn't be going anywhere nice. Another part of his mind contemplated the idea that he might have actually died back in Sugar Rush and now he was being punished for his crimes.

He wasn't sure how long he remained there in the dark with nameless odours, but he dozed off several times. The dark in his waking moments mingled with grotesque creatures hunting him in his dreams and many times he woke up in a panic, only to find he was alone.

There were several times he found himself floating in a dark void and the strangely beautiful sight of thousands of blue wires transmitting impulses between blocks of code blossomed into view. He was in the code vault, the very lifeblood of the game. Turbo didn't know what game it was for until he got a better look at the code blocks. It was Sugar Rush's coding. The malicious racer passed by codes for textures, maps, sound effects and physics engines until he found the blocks he was looking for. Character data, where he found an unused model that he created his King Candy persona with.

Turbo knew what happened next. He tapped on the block to open up all aspects of its programming and dragged the character model out, then he stepped into it and did the necessary reprogramming to usurp the rightful ruler of the saccharine candy go-kart game.

But that was not what unfolded in front of him. Instead he saw his own ghostly hands drag a frightened old king out of the code block. A wickedly sharp blade materialized between his fingers and the unused character trembled in fear.

The hacker's entire body went numb as he understood what was happening. His dream self wanted the character model and he couldn't care less about the character using it. He screamed out in his mind and tried to tear himself away from the dream as sharp steel met flesh and someone else's screams cried out in pain.

_'No, no, no! Please wake up!'_

Turbo lashed out in blind terror, drenched with sweat. His dream induced attack against non-existent terrors only sent a sharp stabbing pain up his injured arm before he came to his senses. His breath came in shallow gasps and the rapid beating of his heart filled his ears. After a while, the terrified racer's breathing and pulse gradually returned to normal.

Until he noticed them. Two white circles staring directly at him. His blood went cold and for several seconds he forgot how to breathe. A thin crescent grew below them and the closet door flew open; Turbo ungracefully throwing himself out to get away from the creature mere inches away from him. He tripped over the frame and desperately scrambled away on his hands and knees.

Nothing followed him out. There was no trace of the shadow child lurking in the shadows to torment him. Perhaps it was just a remnant of a bad dream; a product of his fevered mind. He waited for his racing pulse to return to normal as he rubbed his eyes to remove the stubborn remains of drowsiness that made it difficult to keep his eyelids from shutting.

Blinking dazedly in the relatively bright room, Turbo noticed the hotel room was in pristine condition with the bed neatly made and small chocolates rested on a card atop the pillow. Weak light from outside the window barely illuminated the room, but after spending hours in the pitch black closet, it was nearly blinding.

The ill rested racer pocketed the candies and inspected the card with a rising sense of distrust. Printed in gold friendly letters, the card read:

_"Welcome and thank you for choosing the Salty Shores Inn._

_We hope you enjoy your stay!"_

Turbo scowled at the insultingly cheerful card and removed one of the chocolates from its wrapper. He popped the sweet in his mouth and grimaced at the unexpected pang of salt.

_'Sea salt chocolates. Yuck.'_

Spending fifteen years as the monarch of a candy go-kart game, Turbo had learned to appreciate the various forms of sweets one would expect to find. Even though salted sweets could be found at tracks near the shore, he had never liked salt chocolate. Even bittersweet chocolate was fine with him so why did he happen to stumble across the one kind of candy he hated?

The embittered racer was starting to take it personally. Everything in the town felt strangely as if it was specifically designed with him in mind and not the game's actual protagonist. An image flashed vividly in Turbo's memory; his name sloppily smeared on a cobblestone street in dripping black letters.

How could he have forgotten the message written directly at him, addressing him _by name_, confirming this nightmare was tailored directly toward him? He had never heard of a game doing such a thing. The idea of some faceless overseeing entity responding directly to his thoughts made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and the room felt several degrees cooler.

A sense of malevolent forces he couldn't possibly understand watching him at that very moment caused an unignorable compulsion to leave. The impossibly pristine bed and cream wall paper stood silently as if some unimaginable horror would seep out of them. The carpet floor felt exposed and vulnerable, like any beast prowling about could strike without warning. Some omnipresent entity was clogging the air, making it thicker and harder to breath.

I was too much, just too much. The chalk skinned racer bolted out of the room into the ruined hallway. Floorboards with huge splintered craters, viciously torn walls and broken portions of the ceiling created a stark contrast to the disturbingly tidy room. The unseen entity no longer felt as if it were creating a thick shroud around him and his lungs could take in the air they needed. Still, he couldn't shake off the unsettling image of a pair of eyes floating right behind him.

Turbo didn't really have any clear idea of where he was going while he paced the ruined hallways until he heard an odd sniffling coming from behind a door with the handle broken clean off.

He pushed open the door and found a room that was thoroughly trashed with all the furniture upheaved and shoved off to the sides to clear the center. A familiar woman in a red shirt lay curled on her side in the fetal position, cradling a knife to her chest and staring unblinkingly at the wall. Several opened medical kits with their contents spilling out onto the floor lay scattered around.

The heavy silence hung in the air and for several long moments, she made no acknowledgement of Turbo's presence. Without moving or even insomuch as blinking, she said in the barest whisper, "I didn't think you would have made it this far."

"Nice to know you have such confidence in my abilities." the chalk white racer snarked.

Rita drew herself into a sitting position and looked Turbo straight in the eyes. Tear tracts shone on her face.

"Of course I didn't think you'd live. When you see as many characters as I have get killed in this game, you learn to accept the fact that any new visitors will get themselves eaten and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop it."

The retro racer winced as Rita ran the knife over her thumb, tiny beads of blood welling up.

"Still, you managed to survive this long..." she placed the knife on her lap and looked wistful. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Not yet, no."

She turned her large sad eyes back to him. "A-are you actually searching for my sister?" Rita asked as if she barely dared to hope it might be true. Her deep chocolate brown eyes were filled with utter heartbreak and seemed to be begging mutely.

Turbo nodded and was surprised at how earnestly he meant it. A thin wobbly smile crossed Rita's lips and she stood up to grab one of the med kits.

"In that case, we'll need to address those wounds of yours!" she declared with a far more chipper attitude.

The wounded racer hoped he was in a game were simply picking up the med kit would instantly heal his injuries, but judging from the red shirted protagonist opening one up and placing it in front of her, that wouldn't be the case. This was apparently one of those more 'realistic' games so he obediently held out his arm for her to examine.

"Hmm. I don't think the wound is deep enough to require stitches," Rita grabbed a bottle of distilled hydrogen peroxide and some cotton pads. "but it will still need to be disinfected and bandaged."

Turbo's breath hissed between his teeth as the young woman used the gauze pad to apply the disinfectant to his wound. She worked quietly as she treated the minor cuts and scrapes he had accumulated, the smell of antiseptic cutting through the lingering scents of rot and decay in the hotel.

"So why did you come into town?" the pale patient ventured. "You know many characters have lost their lives here, so why did you place yourself in danger?"

"I had to find my sister." Rita answered simply without turning her gaze away from the task at hand.

The notion struck Turbo. He never had a sibling or anyone he was so close to he might have risked his own life to save them. When the thought of the twins from Turbo Time crossed his mind, he wondered if he might have braved such dangers to bring them back. Well, he might have because his game would have been unplugged without them, but would Turbo have done so for unselfish reasons?

"N-now I don't even k-know if she's still ali-ive." Rita sobbed as she took out a roll of bandage.

The comment seemed rather off to the pale racer. If Rita's sister died in her native game, wouldn't she respawn? Then again, it wasn't impossible that foreign creatures like the parasitic insects could overwrite her code so the game didn't recognize her.

Despite her shaking hands, Rita expertly wrapped the affected arm and Turbo felt the need to know more.

"What was your game about?" he inquired.

The young woman looked somewhat surprised by the question.

"Oh, I guess you could call it a puzzle game. You had to follow a string of clues to solve a mystery."

"Were things always like this?" he asked.

"N-no. There was a time when Little Salt was a wonderful town." Rita looked around the room mournfully. "This hotel room was where we stayed. I was just revisiting old haunts, I guess."

She tied the bandage off and moved back to admire her work. The young woman glanced sheepishly at the knife and back to Turbo.

"Uh, I know I don't really have any right to ask you this, but do you think you could hold onto this for me?" she held out the handle toward him. "I'm afraid that if I keep it I'll be tempted to use it."

The newly bandaged racer felt a prickle of unease coil in his gut as the implications of her request sank in.

"I-I don't know what you're planning, but won't you just respawn if you die in this game?" Turbo held his palms out in a defensive gesture, clearly unsettled by the mentally unstable protagonist sitting in front of him.

Rita nervously tugged at her sleeves, which the disturbed racer noticed were concealing bandages similar to the one on his arm, and turned away in shame.

"Alright..." the bandaged racer started, growing more uncomfortable with the situation. "I'll take it for you."

The young woman handed the knife to him handle first and stood up to leave.

"Make sure you don't lose it," she said as she walked toward the door. "it's important and it could help you."

Rita stopped in the door frame and threw one last look over her shoulder.

"Thank you Turbo."

O.o.O

**_A/N: Long author's note ahead. Christ, this chapter took a long time and between exams, school work and just plain work, I don't know when the next chapter will be uploaded. But don't you worry; I'm not giving up on this story and I will see it through to the end. A great thank you to everyone who has stuck with my story for this long, your support means a lot to me._**

**_New monster names in order of appearance; broken automatons, The Shadow Child, and The Golem. The monsters from the previous chapter, which I'm calling Bug Nests, were based off the artwork of aguantegrimtales on Deviantart. Link here: art/Silent-Ponyville-parasprites-283278487_**

**_The names for the Turbo Twins were taken from Ask-The-TurboTwins on Deviantart._**


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